


Flashover

by killabeez



Series: Immortal Variations [1]
Category: Angel: the Series, Highlander, Highlander: The Series
Genre: Action/Adventure, Community: hlh_shortcuts, Crossover, Episode: s05e16 Forgive Us Our Trespasses, F/F, F/M, Female Characters, Female Protagonist, Femslash, First Time, Het, Het and Slash, Multi, Season/Series 05
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-12-21
Updated: 2007-12-21
Packaged: 2017-10-03 05:18:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/killabeez/pseuds/killabeez
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Amanda's finagled her way out of a fair share of trouble in her time, but super-thief Gwen Raiden might be more than she can handle. Then again, this is Amanda we're talking about.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Flashover

**Author's Note:**

> Written for sinanju, for amand_r's hlh_shortcuts holiday challenge. Thank you so, so much to my two betas, dswdiane and Rhiannon Shaw for their thoughtful and helpful comments. This story takes place in Season 5 of Highlander, not long before "Forgive Us Our Trespasses."

 

for sinanju

  


_**flashover:** An unintended electrical discharge to ground or another phase.  
Flashovers can occur between two conductors, across insulators to ground or equipment bushings to ground._

**I.**

_March 1997_

"You've got to be kidding me," Amanda muttered from her vantage point on the museum's roof. "Talk about unoriginal."

This was supposed to be a clean, easy job, in and out, just something to keep the skills honed, the instincts sharp. That's what she'd told herself. Stealing wasn't something she did any more, not really—not so's you'd notice, anyway. One measly little jade dagger on the side hardly counted. It wasn't her fault they'd printed such a huge color poster of the thing in all its exquisite, rare, and enticing glory and plastered it all over half of Paris, was it? There was only so much temptation a girl could be expected to resist.

At the moment, the treacherous nigglings of a guilty conscience were the least of her problems. No, the real problem was a lot bigger and closer to home, and she watched as it crept its way out onto the wire that led from a neighboring building to the museum.

The moon was a bare sliver hidden by low-hanging clouds, the night as dark as any thief could have wanted, and she was able to make out the dark figure's curvaceous silhouette as the interloper closed the distance between them. Nothing in the woman's slow, deliberate progress indicated that Amanda had been spotted, and Amanda estimated she had about twenty seconds in the clear before her unwanted guest reached safety and could afford to look up.

Amanda smiled to herself. "Well, things just got interesting."

Gear hoisted over one shoulder, she slipped back into the shadows, moving quickly toward the atrium skylights.

* * *

Everything was going according to plan. In retrospect, Gwen figured that should have been her first clue that she was well on her way to a situation fubared to within an inch of its life, but she never had been good with that voice of caution thing. Her particular skills lent themselves more readily to dealing with trouble than avoiding it.

Gwen slid one glove off and laid her palm flat against the key card access panel. The electronic sensor switched off, and the bars guarding the door slid smoothly into their casings. She stretched her bare hand out in front of her, passing it through the invisible net of infrared beams and microwaves that laced the main hall. They bent to her will as easily as the security cameras had, arcing out and away, leaving a clear path to her goal.

"Come on, guys," she murmured. "Make it a challenge next time, will you? A girl could get bored." She put the glove back on—better safe than sorry—and headed for the case.

Five steps from victory, she stopped. The case was empty; the extremely rare, extremely dangerous mystical dagger, for which she'd crossed an ocean, pissed off two clients, and taken a rain check on several lucrative jobs stateside, was gone.

She frowned. "Okay, that's a problem."

"Understatement if I've ever heard one," said a lilting female voice.

Gwen looked up. Two meters overhead, a slim figure in black hung suspended from a cable. Gwen took in the whole package: sleek dark hair, amused eyes, and an appraising look from beneath perfect, arched brows. The other woman flipped the Sacrificial Blade of Heaven in her hand as casually as you'd flip a throwing knife, catching it easily by its carved jade hilt, and smiled down at Gwen, showing dimples. "Looking for this?"

"Who the hell are you?"

"Tsk, tsk, darling, don't be rude, we've only just met."

"Technically, we haven't, but I won't tell if you don't. Now, how's about you give me my knife back, and I let you walk out of here in one piece?"

The other woman laughed, a low, musical sound. "Sweetheart, didn't anyone ever tell you that possession is nine tenths of the law?"

Gwen took two steps back, hands flexing. "Yeah, and they didn't live long enough to regret it."

The woman's eyebrows rose. "Well, aren't you the little firebrand." She laid the hilt of the knife against the curve of her lower lip, thinking. "Tell you what. Why don't you tell me how you worked that little trick with the sensors, and I'll think about it."

Gwen really, really hated not having the upper hand. She cast a glance upward, calculating time and distance. One roof exit, six floors between the upper mezzanine and the ground level doors. But there were too many windows, and too many guards—even if she set off the alarms and manipulated the security systems to block the other woman's escape, she didn't like her chances of coming out of this with the dagger in hand.

Not seeing any choice, Gwen pulled the gloves off, tucking them in her bag.

"I've got a better idea, lady," she said, as she backed up a few more steps and gathered herself. "Why don't you give me... what's... _mine._"

* * *

_Damn, didn't see that coming,_ was Amanda's first thought, as she watched blue flares of electricity arc outward from the girl's palms. And on the heels of that: _Well, that explains the motion sensors._

It was all Amanda had time for. Whatever mysterious force the girl was using, it propelled her out of her neat handspring with the force of a circus cannon; she tucked into herself midair like a pro, then released and caught hold of Amanda's boots with perfect accuracy. Her weight yanked at Amanda's ankles and knees in a hard, bright burst of pain and the cable swung wildly, but the girl clung with grim determination and held on. Amanda's reflexes saved her from dropping the dagger, but only just. She grabbed hold of her line to steady herself, but the girl wasted no time, scrambling up her legs like a monkey.

"Get off me!" Amanda struggled, but her leather pants might as well have been velcro for all the good it did.

"In your dreams," the girl snapped back. She got a lock around Amanda's knees, her pretty face twisted with effort. "And I suggest you make like a yo-yo and crawl up your string, _sweetheart._ Chances are I set off half the alarms down there."

"You're joking." Amanda stared down at her. "You're not joking. You're crazy, but you're not joking." She hit the switch at her belt, and their dizzying pendular swing slowed as the cable started to retract. The girl dug her fingers in to the tendons behind Amanda's knees, and Amanda kicked again, fighting to dislodge her. "Hey, watch it!"

"What's the matter, ticklish?"

"You just better hope this line holds."

They soared upward. At the mezzanine, Amanda slipped the dagger into her bag and grabbed hold of the railing. She looked down; the drop was at least thirty meters, and the girl's grip was like iron. Amanda could think of several creative ways to make her let go, but none of them were good for the girl's life expectancy.

"What are you waiting for?" her unwelcome hitchhiker snapped.

"What the hell do you expect me to do?" Amanda hissed down at her.

"Help me up, what else?"

Amanda laughed. "Not in this lifetime."

The unmistakable sound of running footsteps echoed down a hallway. The girl slanted a smirk up at Amanda, pretty blue eyes tilting at the corners. "You were saying?"

Exasperated, Amanda tightened her grip on the railing. "If I get caught, so do you."

"Bingo. So help me up, and I'll return the favor."

"And why should I trust you?"

"Gee, I don't know. Maybe because I want that dagger?" Amanda stared at her in disbelief. "Come on," the girl said, impatient. "You and I can tango once we get the hell out of here."

Somewhere, an audible alarm went off. Amanda huffed out a breath and reached down with one gloved hand; throttling the little brat would have to wait.

The girl grabbed hold of Amanda's hand and levered herself up, swinging one foot over the railing like it was easy. She moved like a gymnast as she pulled herself up onto the mezzanine, and despite herself, Amanda was impressed.

As soon as she was free of the girl's weight, Amanda swung herself up and over the railing, drawing her short blade without missing a beat. Her eyes flickered down to the girl's bare hands. Whatever that trick was the girl had pulled with the electrical surges, Amanda was willing to bet she didn't want to experience it first hand.

On the plus side, it didn't look like the girl had a gun on her. Probably didn't need one, not when she could throw around that kind of power.

"Don't even think about it," Amanda warned, and sprinted for the stairwell.

* * *

"Son of a bitch!" Gwen muttered, and took off after her. This chick was seriously starting to piss her off. Who carried a frigging sword on a job, anyway?

Gwen caught up to her on the roof as the other woman stood on the edge, testing a length of cable that stretched downward across the gap between the museum and the building opposite. The point of her blade kept Gwen at bay.

"You're not getting it, are you?" the woman said, attaching a carabiner to the line with a second length of cable and wrapping it around her gloved hand and wrist. Her dark eyes flashed to Gwen's, her expression matter of fact. "The dagger's mine, and I'm not planning on handing it over any time soon."

Gwen shifted her weight and started to circle around her, looking for an opportunity. No way she was letting that knife slip through her fingers, not after she'd come all this way. "Come on, don't you want to at least talk about it? I could make it worth your while."

The other woman paused, head tilted on one side. "Do tell."

"Sure," Gwen said, hands flexing. "I could let you walk away in one piece, for starters."

The woman gave her a fond look, like Gwen was some amateur kid she wanted to pat on the head. "That's cute," she said, giving her line another tug and securing her pack at her waist. "But I'm afraid I can't stay and chat any longer. Places to go, fences to see, you know how it is."

Gwen didn't even want to think about what her client would say if he found out the Sacrificial Dagger of Heaven had been sold off like some car stereo at a pawn shop.

She eyed the small, deadly-looking sword, trying to decide how conductive the blade was, and whether the hilt was ivory or metal under its ornamental decoration. "Look," she tried, "just give me the dagger, and we can avoid the hurty, ass-kicky part of the program, what do you say?"

The other woman flashed a brilliant smile and slid her weapon into a hidden sheath along her spine. "It's been a pleasure stealing with you, darling—let's do lunch some time."

In the next moment, she was gone, stepping lightly off the roof. Gwen leapt to the edge and looked down, hands braced against the cold stone as the woman slid easily toward the fire escape across the way. "Dammit!"

She didn't really want to do it, but it wasn't like she had any choice. She was out of time and out of options.

Gwen reached out and closed a hand around the wire, sending a surge down the metal cable; it leapt out into the darkness, a blue tracery of electrical energy licking along the cable, the metal carabiner, the line wrapped around the other woman's wrist. The woman cried out, the current grounding itself out in her body; Gwen had half-hoped she'd manage to hold on, and Gwen could take her out on the fire escape, but even as Gwen released the cable, the other woman lost her grip and plummeted toward the ground. She landed with the sickening sound of snapping bones, and lay still.

For a long second Gwen didn't move. She stood looking down, trying to see if maybe the shape below was moving, if maybe—

"Stupid. God, stupid, stupid." She shook herself, made herself snap out of it. "Move it, you idiot. Don't stand there like a dope." Hands shaking, she uncoiled her grappling hook and made herself attach it to the stone railing. There was a cold pressure in her chest, but she couldn't afford to think about it, not with the _tian bi shou_ six stories below and armed guards somewhere in the building, probably on their way to the roof right now. Sirens rose in the night not half a dozen blocks away. On autopilot, she swung herself over the railing and rappelled down the side of the building, trying not to think about what she was going to find at the bottom.

Less than a minute later, the jade dagger was safely tucked in Gwen's pack and she should have been well on her way to someplace else. Shit happened in this line of work. The woman who lay at her feet, whoever she was, knew the risks when she'd signed on, just like Gwen did. Right? Right.

Sure.

Gwen shook her head in disgust and crouched down next to the body. It was years since she'd killed anyone who wasn't trying to kill her—years and more mileage than she could count. She wasn't a kid any more, and the sick feeling inside of her wouldn't quit.

What the hell, she thought, studying the other woman's face, the pretty dark eyes that stared upward, unseeing. It wasn't like she could make things worse.

She flexed her hand and held the charge until it built up enough to make the hair stand up on her own arm, then laid her palm flat between the other woman's breasts.

"Here goes nothing," she said, and let go.

* * *

Of all the ways it was possible to die, falling off a building didn't even make the top ten on Amanda's "worst" list. That didn't mean it was what you'd call fun. Even less fun, it turned out, was what happened when an Immortal's life force asserted itself at the exact moment someone was trying their best to pump your heart full of three hundred joules of electricity.

Under the best of circumstances, coming back was a shock to the system—in the literal sense of the word. Richie Ryan had once described it as "like sticking your whole head in a light socket while falling down an elevator shaft," and Amanda thought that was right on target. Worse, she or MacLeod could have told him, was reviving in the middle of a Quickening. It was an experience Amanda had been lucky enough to know only once, and hoped never to repeat.

No such luck. She was reborn into blue fire, the pain of broken bones a distant ache compared to the violent jolt of raw current that arced through her chest and head and limbs. She gasped and lunged up, grabbing blindly for the source of the pressure on her heart; she seized onto a wrist, bare skin, and completed the circuit, current looping through her body and the girl's unfettered, amplified.

She wanted to scream, but couldn't draw air for it. It lasted only a few seconds, maybe not even that, before the amplification drove them apart, shoved her tormentor backward. Fingers of lightning lashed from Amanda's chest to the girl's hand and back again until the energy finally dissipated, leaving them both flat on their backs and gasping. Black spots spun before Amanda's eyes.

The sound of sirens was the first thing to penetrate, a distant warning bleeding through the rushing in her ears and the panicked, thready racing of her heart. She took a breath and the black spots receded.

Ten feet away, the girl sat up. "Okay, what the hell just happened?"

Amanda tried to swallow. The taste of ozone was thick on her tongue. "You tell me," she tried, but the words came out slightly slurred, as if she'd crossed a couple of wires somewhere. Maybe not too far from the truth. Blue lights flashed on the gray shapes of the buildings, getting closer. She struggled up to one elbow, head spinning dangerously. The dagger. The museum. "Cops are on their way."

"Yeah, thanks for the newsflash." The girl pushed her hair out of her eyes and got up, dusting herself off. "Well, glad you're not dead, and you're welcome for that, by the way. Now if you'll excuse me, I've got a plane to catch."

Amanda's thoughts dragged like the keel of a ship through sand, sluggish to respond. The dull throb of her ankles registered; a matching ache spread outward from her left wrist and all along her left side, broken bones healing too slowly. When she struggled to her feet, it flared to a thick, red haze of pain, then subsided. Something wasn't right.

"Wait," she said, fighting to pull herself together. "What did you do?" She staggered forward, catching herself on the corner of the building; the girl turned back, reluctant. Regret showed in her face, but she kept moving, light backward steps carrying her further down the alley, deeper into the shadows.

"Sorry, sweetheart," the girl said, sounding older than her years. "I'd stick around, but I need this job. Nothing personal." In a moment she was gone, the soft echo of her footsteps already fading.

Fighting vertigo, Amanda braced one hand against the wall and did her best to follow.

* * *

**II.**

Amanda waited it out for the better part of three days. It felt a lot longer.

On the afternoon of the third day, she couldn't take it any more. She was going stir-crazy in her apartment, alternating between forced optimism and quiet panic. "Not panicking," she told herself, pacing back and forth in the middle of the living room. Her left ankle twinged, a reminder of bones that hadn't quite managed to heal themselves entirely before everything had gone haywire—one more reminder of how vulnerable she was.

She pushed that line of thought away, impatient. "Have to think positive, that's all. Think positive, and I don't know, stay away from sharp objects for a while."

Great, now she was talking to herself. Enough was enough—this obviously wasn't going to fix itself. Which meant it was time for Plan B.

Amanda was not, as a rule, the kind of girl who believed much in the telephone. It was much easier to make an impression in person, and she'd found you were also more likely to get what you wanted, particularly where men were concerned. MacLeod liked to think he was proof against her charms, but it wasn't like he tried very hard—five minutes and she could usually get him eating out of her hand. Of course, the reverse was also true more times than she liked to admit, but it was all part of the game for them, all part of the fun. When it really counted, Duncan would put the games aside and be there for her every time. She knew that. It was a luxury most Immortals would kill for.

As she waited on the line for him to pick up, it occurred to Amanda that one of these days, she was going to have to get out of the habit of going to MacLeod when she was in trouble. No matter how good it was to have somebody you could trust to lean on, taking that kind of thing for granted was a good way to get yourself killed. It was why Amanda had skipped out on MacLeod in Bavaria two centuries ago.

Okay, that and the baronness's jewels.

This, however, was not a day for breaking bad habits. MacLeod might not know how to solve her little problem, but he knew absolutely everybody. He'd find someone who knew something, and trade in a favor or use those big brown eyes and one way or another, he'd fix it. And if he couldn't, at least he'd be there to make her feel better.

But MacLeod, annoyingly, didn't answer. Instead she got his machine telling her to leave a message and he'd get back to her as soon as he could. She hung up before the beep.

"Come on, MacLeod, where are you?"

Things had been a little strained last time they'd been together. He could be seeing someone for all she knew. He could be shacked up with some second-rate countess in a chalet somewhere, while she was stuck here listening to his stupid answering machine.

She made herself stop and take a deep breath, made herself close her eyes. "Okay, Amanda, get a grip. You are not helpless. You've been alive for twelve hundred years, you're smart, you're resourceful, you can do this. Pull yourself together, and stop acting like you were born yesterday."

Better.

A few minutes later, dressed in a slim skirt and butter-soft leather jacket, hair coiffed and brows shaped, she stood in front of the hall mirror, applying a warm red lipstick with careful strokes and considering her options. Methos might have been able to tell her something useful, but even if she thought she could trust him with something like this—and that was a big if—she'd tried to look him up a month ago to get his opinion on an ancient codex that was up for auction, and he'd disconnected his number in Paris and moved out, leaving no forwarding address.

There was one other person in Paris who might be able to help her. Whether he would was another question; she was never quite clear on where MacLeod and his Watcher stood on the whole sharing information thing, and while she didn't _think_ Joe was still annoyed with her over that business with the Methuselah Stone, it was hard to be sure.

Worth a shot, though. If anyone had information to share, it was Joe Dawson. And at this point, half a chance was better than none.

The motorcycle parked outside Joe's new place complicated things. She'd lay pretty good odds that she knew exactly whose bike would be sitting outside Le Blues Bar at eleven in the morning. On the plus side, if she wanted to test out how screwed she really was, now was her chance.

After a moment's debate, Amanda decided she'd come this far and there wasn't much point in delaying the inevitable. "Now or never." she said under her breath. She gave her curve-hugging jacket a tug, and went in.

The two men looked up as she came through the door. Joe was behind the bar while Richie Ryan sat at a table not far away. A moment's confused surprise flickered over Richie's face, but at the sight of her, it gave way to an expression halfway between suspicion and unabashed appreciation. "Amanda?"

She found a smile and made it as genuine and wide as she could, striding toward them like she didn't have a care in the world. "Miss me?"

He recovered fast. "What, are you kidding? Course I did. Just didn't expect to see you here." Richie rose to meet her, giving her a kiss on both cheeks. He was learning, Amanda thought. He was glad to see her, but didn't trust her sudden appearance; MacLeod would have approved. It was a reaction she ought to be used to by now, but today it cut a little deeper than usual.

"You know me," she said breezily, turning away and taking a turn around the room, checking it out. "I like to keep everybody guessing."

"So, what do you think?" Joe asked, watching her take in the place's ambience.

"Not bad, Joe. Not bad at all. Good acoustics, good lighting... I like it." She flashed him a smile. "It suits you."

"Well, thank you very much." He came around the end of the bar, pulling out a stool for her. "Can I get you a drink? It's on the house."

"Club soda, if you don't mind. I'm watching my figure."

Richie gave a low chuckle, exchanging a wry look with Joe. "Believe me, Amanda, you've got nothing to worry about."

"Thank you, Richard, that's sweet. I'm glad to see you know what to say to a girl."

"Every once in a while." He took a sip of his coffee. "So what brings you to Paris? Planning to knock over the Louvre?"

"Very funny. And just when I was starting to think nice things about you."

"Well, we can't have that."

Joe said, "If you're looking for MacLeod, he's gone to Marseilles for a few days on business."

Amanda toyed with her straw, feigning casual interest. "Really. That's too bad. Anything interesting?"

Joe didn't answer, just met Richie's look. The teasing edge faded from Richie's manner, and his shoulders hunched in a tight shrug. "Couldn't tell you. He's not exactly big on sharing these days."

Amanda looked from Richie to Joe. "Something I should know about?"

"You'll have to ask him," said Joe.

Under his intent look, Amanda felt like the truth was written all over her, and between them Richie and Joe would be able to peel her open like a clementine. She took a sip of her drink. "Any chance you know when he's due back? I've got a little situation, and I could really use his help."

"Sometime tomorrow, I think," Richie said. He was still looking at her with that vaguely suspicious air, like she'd grown wings, or maybe horns. She wished it were that simple. "It's not some trick, is it?" he said then, sounding sure. "When you came in. That wasn't a trick."

She made a face. "I think I liked it better when you weren't so quick on the uptake."

"What trick?" Joe said. "What are you two talking about?"

Richie set his cup down and leaned forward. "When she came in—"

"He can't sense me," Amanda broke in, reluctant to draw it out now that the damage was done. "And it goes both ways, I'm afraid."

Joe frowned. "Wait a minute. What are you saying?"

"Honestly? I was kind of hoping you could tell me."

* * *

The good news was that Joe didn't seem to think this particular favor fell under the heading of _We never interfere._ The bad news was that he didn't have an immediate answer for her, either. He sent them away, saying, "Give me a couple of hours, I'll see what I can find out."

Outside the bar, the day had turned overcast. Amanda didn't need to look at Richie to feel the weight of his concern. "Will you stop looking at me like that?" she said, buttoning her jacket against the chill wet in the air. "It's not the end of the world."

"I'm not looking at you like anything." She gave him a look, and he raised a hand in self-defense. "Fine, excuse me for caring. This honestly doesn't freak you out?"

She sighed, glancing down the street for a cab, though they were nonexistent in this neighborhood at this hour. "Richie, I love you, but sometimes you can be a little on the thick side. Of course it freaks me out."

Richie pulled his gloves on, and reached for the helmet resting on the seat of his bike. "Let me give you a ride home, at least."

"Are you my knight-protector, now?"

"If you need one." He met her gaze levelly, not presuming—offering.

For a moment, she wasn't sure what to say. "Thank you, that's—Thanks."

"Not a problem." Then, as if worried that she'd take his earnestness the wrong way, he shrugged and mustered a small, self-deprecating grin. "Mac would kill me if I let anything happen to you, you know that."

Amanda had the strong desire to cup his cheeks in her hands and kiss him on the forehead. He really was sweeter than he had any right to be. Someday he was going to make the right girl deliriously happy, and she hoped she lived long enough to see it.

She let him take her home, but drew the line at letting him stay, as much as it would have made her feel better. If she was going to get through this, she was going to have to learn how to cope on her own.

She climbed off the bike and kissed him on the cheek. "It'll be fine. You'll see."

"You sure?" he said, looking like he might still argue the point.

"I'm sure. Hey, it's not all bad." She waved a hand at her head, indicating her lack of buzz. "At least I'm flying below the radar. Cuts down on the chances of a random drive-by."

"Yeah, so it's only the Immortals who come looking for you that you gotta worry about. Terrific."

She smiled, trying to make light of it. "Look on the bright side. Who's going to come looking for me like this?"

His expression said he wasn't buying what she was selling. "So I guess you don't have any old enemies, then? Nobody who might turn up to settle an old score?"

"Have a little faith. I didn't get to be twelve hundred years old by needing a bodyguard."

"No," he countered, "you got there by being Immortal."

"You know as well as I do, it takes a lot more than that to survive in this world."

But he wasn't listening any more, his attention fixed on something over her shoulder. "Friend of yours?" he asked, body going still as if assessing a threat.

Amanda's heart missed a beat, as if talking about it had conjured some old enemy from her past right out of thin air and there was a sword bearing down on her right this minute. She turned, and the momentary panic was strong enough that it took her longer than it should have to recognize the young woman who stepped out of the doorway of her building.

The way the girl was dressed was too much by a mile, but she was beautiful and self-confident enough that she carried it off easily. Her sable hair was in two long braids, which somehow made her look both younger and more unabashedly sexual at the same time, a provocative contrast against the black leather pants and skin-tight, red leather halter top that bared most of the skin above her nipples. Long black gloves completed the look, ridiculously out of place at this hour and in this neighborhood, but arresting nonetheless.

Irritated on more levels than she cared to count, Amanda recovered, her heart slowing down to a more normal rate. "What the hell is she doing here?"

Richie got off the bike and laid his helmet on the seat, not-so-subtly moving in front of Amanda without taking his eyes off the girl.

"Who is she?" he asked. If it was more than suspicion that made him stare, Amanda couldn't really blame him.

"Your guess is as good as mine," she said. "I ran into her on a job the other night, and she screwed me." At Richie's look, she waved a hand impatiently. "Figuratively speaking."

After a beat, Richie's eyes narrowed. "What kind of job?"

"Never mind." Amanda watched the girl come toward them, trying to figure out what she could want. As far as Amanda could tell, she was unarmed, and there wasn't much room to hide weapons in that get-up. Then again, she'd already done enough damage with her bare hands.

The girl stopped two meters away, head cocked like a dare. "Amanda, right?"

Amanda lifted her chin, meeting that intense, ocean-colored gaze head on. "Give the girl a gold star," she said, matching the confrontational attitude with a touch of her own. "How'd you find me?"

"Asked around. Wasn't hard—you don't exactly keep a low profile. I need to talk to you. Alone." As if to punctuate the word, a pale arc of electricity seemed to materialize at the girl's pulse point and flickered for a second over the skin of her throat and chest.

Richie started, hand going for the sword strapped to his bike. "What the hell?"

The sharp scent of ozone hit Amanda's nose, and she saw the girl flinch and tense slightly, her jaw tightening as she clenched her teeth.

Intuition sparked in tandem with that strange phenomenon, and she stopped Richie with a hand on his shoulder. "Don't worry, I can handle this." She gave the girl an assessing look, weighing the risks. "All right. Come inside, and we'll talk."

"Amanda—" Richie protested.

Amanda patted him on the arm, sparing him a reassuring glance. "Relax, honey. It's not like she's one of us. What's the worst that could happen?"

Disbelieving, he stared at her. "Where do you want me to start?"

"Okay, fair enough. But she's right, I think she and I do have some things to talk about."

His jaw set, and she could see he was going to be stubborn about this unless she pulled out the big guns. She softened her expression, taking his elbow and leaning close. "It'll be fine, I promise. I'll explain later, but right now, I need you to trust me. Okay? For me?"

He resisted, but after a long moment of Amanda's best pleading look, his shoulders slumped. "You don't play fair, you know that?"

"Never said I did," she said, patting him one last time and letting him go. "I'll keep in touch, I promise."

Richie glanced unhappily from her to the girl. "Okay. I'll be around if you need me."

"I know you will." After a moment's hesitation, she leaned in and kissed him gently, on the lips this time, then wiped her lipstick away with the edge of her thumb. "And I appreciate it, more than you know."

He cleared his throat; his flush was, she had to admit, gratifying. "I never know what to do with you, Amanda."

She smiled. "That's kind of the whole point."

"He's cute," the girl said as they watched him drive off. "If you like that clean-cut, Eagle Scout type."

"It's a problem I have," Amanda admitted. "So far, I haven't found a twelve-step."

She led the way inside, hoping like hell that her instincts were right about this girl. On the one hand, she'd stolen a dagger Amanda considered rightfully hers and left Amanda to the wolves. On the other... well, Amanda had seen her share of killers in her time, and this girl didn't qualify. Plus, Amanda had to hand it to her, she did have style.

Amanda watched her guest do a quick recon of the flat's living area, noting the careful way she kept her arms wrapped around herself. It was out of sync with the in-your-face attitude, and Amanda suspected it wasn't self-consciousness that kept her hands tucked out of sight. The moment Amanda had stepped within three feet of the girl, all the hair on her body stood up, and she'd felt a hum like that of a transformer close to overload.

Saying nothing about that, Amanda took a seat in her favorite chair and gestured to the couch opposite. The girl ignored it, continuing her slow circuit of the room. Amanda huffed a sigh. Didn't anybody teach manners these days?

"Third century," Amanda said at last, "in case you're wondering."

The elegant dark brows drew together, and the girl looked at her like she was speaking Chinese. "Excuse me?"

"The vase. Third century A.D. The enamelwork's lovely, don't you think? Although it's generally considered rude to case a girl's flat before you've been properly introduced."

The girl's eyes fell for a second and she had the grace to shrug, though as apologies went, it lacked something. "Name's Gwen. Raiden." She made a face. "Sorry, I didn't exactly win any prizes at finishing school."

"You don't say." It slipped out before Amanda could stop it, three days of tension and not enough sleep getting the better of her.

The defiant, half-embarrassed look that touched the girl's face in answer made Amanda regret it. She recognized that look too well, and felt an unwelcome pang of understanding. This must have been how Rebecca felt, faced with a dirty, illiterate, starving guttersnipe all those centuries ago—even though Gwen Raiden was none of those things.

The look disappeared as quickly as it had surfaced, and Gwen stopped pacing. She sat down abruptly on the couch and leaned forward, elbows on knees. "Let's cut to the chase. Something happened the other night, and if I don't fix it, I'm pretty much screwed for life. I'm gonna go out on a limb here and guess you've got some idea what I'm talking about."

Feigning casualness, Amanda crossed her legs and pretended to think. "I seem to recall you sending me plummeting to a quick and ugly death. Is that the part you mean?"

Gwen's expression darkened. "Come on, it was an accident."

Amanda's eyebrows rose in mock innocence. "Oh, so you're talking about after, when you—what? Electrocuted me with your bare hands?"

"Hey, excuse me," Gwen snapped, "I thought you'd prefer it to being dead."

Amanda gave her a hard, level look, weighing everything she'd witnessed. "It's you, isn't it? The electrogirl routine. It's not some gadget you've got wired up, it's you."

For a long moment, Gwen didn't answer. Finally, she looked away and confessed, "It _was_ me. That's kind of the problem. Now? It's like all my generators are on overdrive." She got up, pacing more agitatedly this time. Amanda watched her rubbed at her upper arms. Delicate webs of visible current licked at the tiny spaces between her fingertips; Gwen didn't seem to notice. "I can't control it. It feels like every wire I've got is crossed, and I can't control it."

Even hearing her say it, Amanda had a hard time believing it. "So, you're saying I... what? Supercharged your batteries?"

Gwen stopped on the other side of the coffee table, holding herself tightly. "Near as I can figure."

Amanda couldn't help it; she leaned back in her chair and started to laugh.

Gwen's head snapped around and she glared, brows drawing angrily together. "This funny to you?"

"Not in the least," Amanda said, her tone light, "but if there's one thing I know, it's that in this life you either have to laugh or check yourself in to the place with the pink, padded walls."

Gwen shook her head, and the tension in her body didn't abate. She advanced on Amanda, head thrust forward and a dangerous set to her shoulders. "If I don't fix this, that's about the best I could hope for. I'm walking death right now for anybody who gets too close—not to mention I can't get on a plane, or drive a car, or do my goddamn job. So, I'm not laughing. Now can you help, or not?"

Amanda uncrossed her legs and leaned forward, spreading her hands, placating. "Okay, look. We'll figure this out. If it makes you feel any better, you're not the only one who's pretty much screwed."

Body stiff, Gwen stopped a few feet away. "Not so much. But I'm listening."

It was hard to sit still with the girl's energy filling up the room, especially at close quarters, and Amanda got up. Arms folded, she circled the chair, tapping her fingers against her elbows to help her think.

"I think you got my Quickening," she said at last.

"How's that again?"

Amanda stopped near the window, trying to get her head around the idea. "It must have something to do with the power surge that happens when I revive, that's all I can figure. You were trying to jumpstart my heart at the same time, and we got caught up in some kind of feedback loop." She looked at Gwen. "Now you're supercharged, and I'm... mortal."

"Mortal. As opposed to the alternative?" Gwen stared at her. "So you're a freak, too."

"I guess you could say that."

Gwen cast her eyes upward for a second, as if bracing for lightning to strike. "I swear, there is no end to the ways my life can suck." Then she eyed Amanda again, suspicion dawning. "You're not a demigod or something, are you? Because I really hate it when I get mixed up in that higher plane stuff."

Amanda's eyebrows rose. "Not last time I checked. I'm just really hard to kill. Well, usually." She took in Gwen's lack of surprise. "I have to admit, that's not the typical reaction."

Gwen sighed. "Trust me, in my line of work, you see everything." She gave Amanda an assessing look as if trying to decide what kind of freak she was dealing with, then took a few slow steps away from the couch, turning it over. "That's what you meant by "one of us," isn't it? The boy wonder's immortal, too. Like you."

"Well, I won't tell him you called him that if you don't tell him I told you."

Gwen cocked her head, impatient. "So, what? We hold hands and everything goes back to the way it was?"

"Your guess is as good as mine."

Their eyes held. Gwen closed the distance between them, and Amanda could feel the halo of current lift the hair on her arms. She didn't flinch. Gwen started to slide one of the gloves off, then stopped, frowning. At last she shook her head and stepped back. "Bad idea. What if it's not that simple? I touch you the way I am now, you could drop dead on the spot, and then we're both out of luck."

Amanda let herself breathe, trying not to be too obvious about it. "So, what do we do?"

"We gotta equalize the fields somehow. Your mojo and mine, they're incompatible. Different frequencies or voltages or something. Like trying to plug a two-twenty dryer into a one-ten outlet."

Amanda frowned. "You're saying you flipped my circuit breaker? So how do we flip it back?"

"How the hell should I know? It's not like this has ever happened to me before." As if echoing her frustration, the lights flickered, then steadied. The now-familiar tracery of electric current flushed under her skin, and Amanda watched her turn away and clench her fists, riding it out. "Dammit."

"Does it hurt?" Amanda asked, not thinking.

Gwen gave a low, sharp laugh. "It's better than ice cream."

Amanda winced. "Sorry, dumb question."

But Gwen glanced at her, then away, immediately apologetic. "No, it's okay. It's just, most people—Most people don't ask."

Amanda tried to imagine what it would be like, living the way Gwen must have lived. Even when she wasn't supercharged, she controlled enough power in her slim body to restart somebody's heart—or stop it. Warily, she moved a little closer, as if approaching an unpredictable tiger. "Were you always like this?" she asked.

"A freak? Yeah. Not like this, though. I had a handle on it until you came along."

Amanda gave a soft laugh of disbelief. "You say that like this was my idea. It's not exactly champagne and caviar for me, either."

Gwen turned away. She sat back down on the couch, weariness written all over her. Sounding bitterly tired, she said, "Yeah. But you're not the one walking around like a live wire. You're not the one who can't work, or take a taxi, or go out in public without scaring the norms into locking you up."

"Trust me," Amanda said gently, "I've got problems of my own, and most of them carry swords." At Gwen's puzzled frown, Amanda shook her head. "Never mind. Just—Take my word for it, my life expectancy's not looking so hot right now, and that's if I leave Paris. If I stay, I'll be lucky to see Tuesday."

Gwen spread her hands near her knees. "Well, I'm open to suggestions."

Amanda headed for the phone. "I've got someone working on it. Let me call him, give him the update."

Gwen watched her dial. Amanda realized it was one more thing Gwen couldn't do; her touch was poison, and not only to people. She couldn't make a phone call, disable an alarm, pet a kitten. How old was she, anyway? She couldn't have been more than twenty. Gwen was right. Suddenly, Amanda's problems didn't seem so bad.

"Dawson," the familiar voice growled at the other end.

"Joe? It's me. Listen, things got a little more complicated."

* * *

"So, now we wait?" Gwen asked from her spot on the couch.

Amanda came back and leaned on her folded arms against the back of the chair. "He's good. He'll find something."

"Who is this guy? Some kind of paranormal researcher?"

"You could say that. If it has to do with Immortals, his organization has it filed away somewhere." Amanda studied the young woman, feeling an inexplicable protective instinct that she couldn't deny. "Listen, do you have someplace to stay? This could take a little while."

Gwen's eyebrows twitched, the curve of her mouth bemused. "You offering?"

Amanda moved her shoulders in a shrug, thinking she was probably crazy for it, but what the hell. It was looking like her week for it. "I might be."

For a long moment, Gwen looked at her as if trying to puzzle out her angle, or find the hidden catch. Finally, she shook her head, then stood up and moved toward the foyer. "Thanks, but I can take care of myself." She lifted her hands palms out, wiggling her fingers. "I'm used to being a freak. This is a little extreme, is all."

"So how will I find you?"

"I've got a message service at the place I'm staying. It's zero eight, three six, three five, three five, three five. Call me when you know something."

In another moment, Gwen was gone, and Amanda was left feeling like she'd entertained a force of nature, in more ways than one.

Amanda went into the kitchen and put on a pot of water for tea, needing something to soothe her nerves after half an hour sharing space with a barely-contained lightning storm. It had to be a hundred times more difficult for Gwen, who couldn't walk away from it.

To Amanda's surprise, she found that it wasn't only her own future she was worried about. In barely half an hour's time, and despite extenuating circumstances, Gwen Raiden had managed to get under her skin.

By all rights, Amanda should have hated her. The girl was pricklier than the proverbial porcupine, she'd snatched a primo prize right out of Amanda's hands, and she was gorgeous enough for any two girls, never mind the part where she'd turned Amanda's life upside down. But there was something about her: a combination of self-assurance and humility that was rare—even more so in someone so young. It was as if she'd seen more of the truth of the world in her few years than most people did in a lifetime, and had taken from that a rock-solid realism and sense of perspective that few ever found. Amanda couldn't help but admire that.

It didn't hurt that the girl was poetry in motion when it came to getting her hands on priceless objects.

Amanda glanced at the clock. Barely two hours had passed since she'd left for Joe's, and it might be tomorrow or the next day before he got back in touch. This called for more than tea, she decided.

Turning off the stove, she went and got her handbag, counting the risks more than acceptable when weighed against the likelihood that she was going to slowly drive herself crazy if she stayed in her apartment one more day. When the going got tough, the tough went shopping—that had always been her motto, and it had gotten her through plenty of rough times. She saw no reason to change it now.

It was late by the time she got home, feeling much, much better about life. Maybe she'd been overreacting about the whole Paris thing. It wasn't like she was MacLeod, with half the Immortals on the planet gunning for her head. She had her share of old war wounds, as he put it, and every now and then one of them would act up, but it wasn't like they came looking for her all that often. If they did, they were more likely to want to hire her than kill her.

That cheering thought was foremost in her mind as she let herself into her building, balancing a somewhat obscene number of bags and packages in her arms. Her back twinged as she twisted to nudge the door open with her foot. _Watch it, chiquita,_ she warned herself. _They say a pulled muscle takes up to seven months to heal._ She laughed, a little punchy after three days of not much sleep.

The laughter died on her lips as she got her apartment door open, and it registered that the lights were on and she hadn't left them that way. The frisson of cold warning that sank through her belly barely had time to sink in before her eyes fell on the dark figure that rose from the couch.

"Where were you?" MacLeod demanded, in that infuriatingly bossy tone he got when he was worried about her.

Her initial spike of adrenaline subsided into aggravation. She made herself breathe, then stepped into the foyer and closed the door, letting her packages come to rest around her feet. "Haven't you ever heard of calling first?" She pulled off her gloves, then her hat, and shook her hair out, running her fingers through it. "You scared me half to death."

"Don't joke," he warned. "I've been sitting here for half an hour not knowing what to think."

She shot him an exasperated look as she hung up her coat. "Let me guess. Richie told you everything. Or was it Joe?"

He gave her a once-over as if still not quite trusting his eyes. "Richie," he admitted. "He was right. I can't feel you."

"Not if you keep looking at me like that, you can't. Will you stop? I'm fine." She angled her chin up and ran her fingers over her throat. "Look, not even a scratch."

"Not funny, Amanda."

"You think?" She picked up some of the bags and breezed past him into the living room, needing something to do. Watching Duncan freak out over this wasn't exactly helping her own peace of mind. She set the bags down and made a show of looking through them. "Listen, it has been a really long day. If you came to yell at me, do you think we could do it in the morning?"

There was a pause before he said, "That hardly counts as yelling."

"Yeah, well, it wasn't so much the volume level as the intent."

The pause was longer this time, and she sensed him behind her, big and strong and safe and probably wanting to throttle her, as usual. "Amanda—" His tone was torn between apology and exasperation. "What happened?"

She sighed, and closed her eyes. "It's a long story."

"Well, it's not like I've got to be somewhere."

She looked at him, and couldn't stay angry in the face of his half-apologetic expression, his brows arched and his eyes full of concern for her. She went to him and he put his arms around her without thought, steady and warm and more welcome than she could have put into words.

The cease-fire lasted as long as it took her to give him the short version. When she was finished, he got pissed off all over again. Standing hipshot in the middle of the room, Amanda watched him pace a hole into the same stretch of floor Gwen had tried to wear down earlier today.

"Only you, Amanda."

"Me! What's that supposed to mean?"

"What the hell were you doing there in the first place?"

She rolled her eyes. "I'll give you three guesses, and the first two don't count."

"Amanda—" He stopped himself. "It's not my place to tell you how to live your life. But for God's sake, couldn't you just, for once, _think_ before you get yourself into situations like this?"

She stared at him in disbelief. He'd known what she was from the day they met, and he still acted like her being a thief was some kind of personal insult—except, of course, when he needed her to steal something for him. Her temper finally frayed, and she turned and walked away because it was either that, or kill him.

This was why it never worked out between them, she thought, the hurt tight and angry inside her. This was the thing they could never seem to get past, no matter how hard they tried.

Near the window, she stopped. "You have no idea what it's like. Okay? You don't. You never did."

He said nothing for a minute, until finally she couldn't take it any more and had to look at him. What she saw cut the knees out from under her anger, and made her feel childish, like a little girl throwing a temper tantrum because she couldn't have what she wanted. He returned her gaze with that ever-present steadiness that said they might never speak the same language and it didn't matter because he saw her, and loved what he saw, even when she made him as crazy as he made her.

He closed the distance between them and cupped her face in his hand. "Is that what you really think?" he said at last. "That I don't understand you? Then you haven't been paying attention all these years." He brushed the hair back from her forehead, tracing the arch of her eyebrow with his thumb. "I don't want you to get hurt, that's all. I don't want to lose you."

She put her arms around him and buried her face in his shoulder. "Yeah, well, that makes two of us. So let's stop arguing and figure out how to fix this."

He held her, his hand warm against the back of her neck. "Tomorrow. Okay? We will. We'll figure it out."

He smelled like the rain and the faint echo of his aftershave. He must have left Marseilles the moment Richie called him, she thought, and driven like a bat out of hell to get here.

When he turned her face up and kissed her, she closed her eyes and let him comfort her the way he knew best.

* * *

Some time later, she woke up alone in the bed. A glance at the clock told her it was late, well after midnight. She could hear his voice, low, from the other room.

There was a pause, then he spoke again. "I tried him. Ceirdwyn, too, but no luck."

She realized he was on the phone, probably with Joe. "What'd you find out about the girl?" he said next. The pause this time was longer, and Amanda wished she could hear Joe's answer. She started to get up, then at Duncan's next words, hesitated.

"What about Methos? Have you heard anything?" Unspoken tension lay beneath the question; she could hear it in his voice. It confirmed something she'd been wondering about ever since she'd tried to reach Methos three months before. Something _had_ happened since she'd seen Duncan last, and whatever it was, Methos was a part of it.

"I know," Duncan was saying now, the tension bleeding through. "But if anyone knows anything, it's him." He was silent for a few more moments, then, "I hear you. But I think he'd help her if he could. Just let me know if you hear anything, will you?" Finally, sounding weary to his bones, he said. "I will. Night, Joe."

He came back into the room and saw she was awake. "Sorry, sweetheart. Didn't mean to wake you."

"Everything okay?"

"Yeah. Just checking in with Joe." He came back to bed; she offered her arms and, uncharacteristically, he gave himself into her embrace, resting his head on her shoulder and wrapping an arm around her waist. "He says he's got a lead on the chronicle of an Immortal in Constantinople in 759 that might have some answers for us."

"What happened, he get hit by lightning?"

"Took three Quickenings at once and lived to tell the tale."

She whistled, low. "Talk about your overachievers."

He made a short, gruff sound that might have been a laugh. "That's one way of putting it."

Amanda stroked his hair back from his forehead, hearing the exhaustion in his voice. She was starting to think she wasn't the only one short on sleep these days.

"Baby, you sure you're okay? You seem like you're kind of down since I saw you last. Did something happen?" Amanda almost said more, but something told her saying Methos's name was a bad idea right now.

He stilled, as if she'd trod on something he wasn't ready to talk about. "Just tired," he said at last. "Let's get some sleep. Everything will look better in the morning."

And because she loved him, she kissed him on the forehead and let it go for now. Within a few moments, he'd given in to uneasy sleep, and she held him, giving comfort and taking it at the same time.

Sleep came more slowly for Amanda. In the darkness, she lay awake and thought about all the things she still had left to do in the world.

* * *

**III.**

Twelve hours later, they were at Le Blues Bar, and Joe was giving them the low-down. Amanda could have predicted Duncan's reaction in her sleep.

He stared at Joe as if waiting for him to get to the punchline. When he realized Joe was serious, his face clouded over like a November sky and he shook his head, walking away with fists clenched and jaw set. "No. Not a chance."

Amanda toyed with her swizzle stick, and exchanged a look with Joe. "MacLeod, you're overreacting."

"Overreacting?" He turned on her, voice rising as if he couldn't believe what he was hearing.

She turned around on her bar stool to face him, trying to make him see reason. "I don't like it, either, but as long as it works, right?"

"You're not serious." But he obviously could see that she was. He took a step toward her, gesturing helplessly as if she were the one missing the point. "You're not a hunter, for God's sake."

"No," she said, "but I can think of a few of us the world would be better off without." Seeing his conflicted expression, she demanded, "Tell me I'm wrong."

He opened his mouth as if to say something, then closed it again. Frowning, he switched tacks. "You are not going into a fight with another Immortal like this."

"Oh, yeah? Who's gonna stop me?"

He closed the distance between them, a hint of desperation in his expression. "Think about this, would you? What happens if you get hurt? One cut to the hamstring, one knife in the ribs, and that's it, game over."

"And you somehow think I don't know that?"

"Amanda—" Joe broke in, plainly sensing that this conversation was going nowhere fast.

She looked from Duncan to Joe, spreading her hands. "Look, guys, what choice do I have? It's either this or live with things the way they are, and no offense, Joe, but I'd rather take the risk."

That won his dry, gravelly laugh. "None taken, believe me."

Amanda watched Duncan struggle with the realization that she meant to go through with it, and that he had no choice but to accept it. "At least let me come with you."

"Honey, be serious. Who's gonna fight me with you looming around in the background? No. I have to do this, and I have to do it alone. That's all there is to it." In a gentler tone, she added, "Look, it's not like I haven't done this before. I'll have to be a little more careful, that's all."

"When's the last time you took someone's head? And Zachary Blaine doesn't count."

"Trust me, I haven't forgotten how."

At a loss and deeply troubled, he finally looked to Joe. "How sure are you?"

"Like I told Amanda, it's not an exact science. But from everything I could find in the archives, it's the best chance she's got."

Duncan looked torn, like he wanted to keep arguing the point. "I still don't like it."

"Yeah, well," Amanda said, "nobody asked you to."

She met Joe's look, and he leaned forward over the bar in that encouraging, you-can-talk-to-me way mastered by bartenders the world over. "Who's it gonna be? Have you thought about that?"

"I've got a few ideas." She got up and picked up her handbag. "Listen, thanks, Joe. I really appreciate it." Looking from him to Duncan, she added, "That goes for both of you. But I think I need some time to think things over."

It was the truth, and she could see Duncan wasn't ready to accept it, but he respected her boundaries enough to keep any further protests to himself.

"Promise me you won't do anything stupid," he said instead.

She smiled. "Come on, you know me better than that."

His expression said he did, and that was the problem, but he let her go because she didn't leave him much choice.

* * *

Maybe Duncan was right; maybe she should have struggled more with the idea. She wasn't a hunter, and she had to agree, the idea of making a date to try and kill someone for essentially medicinal purposes was fairly gruesome. It certainly wasn't the smartest thing she'd ever done. But there was a part of her, the part that wanted to survive, that had suspected from the moment she realized her situation that this might be the only real hope she had. Hearing Joe say that there was a chance it would work had been a relief.

As for the finer moral questions, she didn't see that they applied. She could think of at least a dozen Immortals the world would do well to be rid of, and even Duncan couldn't argue with that. If it was up to her to shorten that list by one, so be it.

Of course, there was always the chance she'd lose, but that could happen any time, anywhere. Better to choose the time and place and face the music.

Her personal field of possible candidates was fairly short, in the end, and narrowed itself down to one without much effort. He was in Europe, she was able to track him down with a few phone calls, and he was almost certain to want her dead as much as she wanted the reverse. Better still, he'd had unpleasant history with Rebecca, too. Any misgivings Amanda might have had about her decision faded when she thought about winning one back for Rebecca's sake—not that Rebecca would have liked the whole situation any better than Duncan did.

_Yeah, well,_ Amanda told herself, _I'm not them._ The thought felt more liberating than it had in a while.

One last phone call to Frankfurt, and she was in business. The next, she made to the number Gwen had given her; she gave an abbreviated message to the clerk at the other end, hoping like hell this was going to work. Gwen Raiden was the x-factor, the one Amanda worried most about in all this. She was the reason Amanda was in this mess, but you couldn't fault her motives—or at least, Amanda couldn't. Gwen had wanted that dagger, and she'd been willing to do what it took to get it, but she hadn't been willing to kill for it. Someone who'd lived a life as lonely and dangerous as she suspected Gwen's was, you wouldn't expect them to go to the trouble.

"Admit it," she said to herself. "You like her."

What she didn't like, and never had, was waiting. She glanced at the clock; she was stuck with hours to kill, and too much nervous energy. Well, it wouldn't hurt to warm up a little.

The steady rhythm of the exercise helped settle her nerves, and after a while she felt the pent-up energy in her body start to flow, the power in her motions becoming smooth and focused. Duncan wouldn't have called what she did kata, but it worked for her. Bits of acrobatics and hapkido blended with the more traditional martial arts he and others had tried to teach her over the years, becoming a dance that suited her long, lean muscles and eclectic fighting style. Her biggest advantage in a fight was that everyone underestimated her. It hadn't failed her yet. As long as she kept her head on straight, her focus clear, she had to believe it would be enough.

She kept it up until the first pleasant ache of fatigue had spread to most of her muscles, and she felt as relaxed and ready as she'd ever be.

* * *

The sound of the door buzzer came as she was getting out of the shower. Cinching the belt of her robe tighter, she shook her fingers through her hair and went to the intercom. "Yes?"

"It's me," came Gwen's husky voice. "Can I come up?"

Amanda glanced at the clock; it was still a couple of hours until her scheduled rendezvous. After the briefest of hesitations, she touched the button to unlock the door and said, "It's open."

Gwen was dressed for night work this time, in a close-fitting, long-sleeved pullover and snug but comfortable black pants, her hair in a sleek, single braid down her back. She really was stunning, Amanda thought, feeling the warm energy that buzzed in her body sink a little lower.

"You'll have to give me a minute to get dressed," she said, aware of her flushed skin and the water spiking her hair. "You're early."

"Yeah, sorry," Gwen said, not sounding all that sorry. "I never was much good at waiting. It kind of makes me crazy. I thought maybe we could, I don't know. Talk, or something?"

Gwen was on edge, and seemed to intend the words at face value; still, Amanda wouldn't have been at all opposed to the idea of _or something,_ and she had to remind herself that touching wasn't part of the game plan with this girl, for a whole host of reasons. "Sure," she said, covering her momentary distraction. "Long as you promise not to steal anything while I'm out of the room."

"I'm a professional," Gwen said. "I steal things I'm paid to steal."

Amanda's eyebrows rose. "Really? How gauche."

Gwen laughed with genuine warmth, as if Amanda had surprised it out of her. She had a charming little gap between her front teeth. Amanda stood back to let her in, the hair on her arms standing up as the girl stepped past her, a silent warning not to get too close.

Gwen behaved herself; everything was where Amanda had left it when she came back, this time wearing the twin to Gwen's outfit and rubbing her hair dry with a towel. "What's your poison?" she asked, heading for the kitchen. "I don't know about you, but I could use a drink."

"Um...sure. Thanks," Gwen said. "Something with vodka in it?"

Amanda laughed, glancing back over her shoulder. "That bad, huh?"

"It's been a long week."

Amanda's kitchen was open to the living area, so she was able to keep an eye on her guest as she made the drinks. "So, I guess I'd better fill you in on the details," she said, then shook her head. "Boy, you'd think this'd get easier."

Gwen came and leaned on the counter from the other side, arms crossed, watching Amanda work. "If it makes you feel any better, I wasn't kidding when I said I see pretty much everything in my line of work."

"Were you kidding about only stealing on commission?" Amanda asked, genuinely curious.

"Nope, it's true. I specialize in mystical relics and rare occult objects. Cursed amulets, ancient oracles—pretty much if it's one-of-a-kind and dangerous in some way, I'm your girl."

"Sounds like the kind of gig where you could charge top dollar."

"Pretty much."

"And the dagger?"

"The _tian bi shou_—the Sacrificial Blade of Heaven," Gwen said. "The hilt supposedly contains the trapped spirit of a three thousand year old Chinese dragon."

"Seriously?"

"No idea if it's true."

Amanda shot her a look, smile teasing at the corners of her mouth. "So, your life is really boring, then."

Gwen chuckled. "Not so's you'd notice."

Finished with the drinks, Amanda started to push one over the counter, then hesitated. "Tell me the truth. Am I about to get arrested for contributing to the delinquency of a minor?"

"Not in France." Gwen's wry grin reached her eyes, and Amanda was charmed.

"Damn," she said, admiring. "The scowl suits you, but I have to say, the smile has it by a mile." Gwen's cheeks turned pink, and she looked away, then down. Not regretting it a bit, Amanda said, "Sorry, but it's true."

Gwen's gaze finally returned to hers. "You always this nice to people who try to kill you?"

"Only the ones who don't mean it." Amanda nodded toward the drink. "Go on, taste it, see what you think."

Gwen took a sip. "It's good. What's in it?"

"A little rum, a little vodka, a little grenadine, but it's the apricot brandy that makes it." Her own was more grenadine and lime juice than alcohol, but she'd laced in enough of the good stuff to take the edge off.

"So, what's the plan?" Gwen asked, as they took the drinks into the living room. "I'm not big on going into risky situations without a road map."

Amanda sighed and sipped her drink, trying to find a place to start. "Remember how I said I thought you got my Quickening?" Gwen nodded as they sat. "Well, there's usually only one way an Immortal can take another's life force, and that's by cutting off his or her head. When that happens, the winner takes the power that's released—kind of like what happened to you, only we absorb it, make it part of our own life force. The more life energy you take, the stronger you get."

"So you're immortal, but you go around killing each other with swords?" Gwen shook her head. "Man, that is messed up."

"Not all of us. But the rush is intense. For some, it can be addictive."

Gwen went still. "And that's what you meant when you said you had a date with the devil. You think if you kill this guy, take his life-energy, it'll fix you."

"Don't get the wrong idea. Most Immortals, this is what they do. A challenge to the death, one on one, in fair combat. It's never been my idea of a good time, but I do what I have to. The guy I'm challenging tonight, he's had it coming for a long time."

She watched as Gwen digested that. "So," Gwen said at last, "how do I fit in?"

Amanda winced. "That's where it gets tricky. I've been thinking about what you said, about equalizing the fields. And I'm thinking, if my circuit's already open... maybe there's a way to do that. Maybe between us, if we know what's happening, we can control it this time."

Gwen looked dubious. "That's a whole lot of maybe."

Amanda met her gaze with a frank one of her own. "I know. I can't lie to you. There's no guarantee this will work. And even if it does—" Amanda wasn't thrilled about the idea of essentially trying to take on two Quickenings at once, but at least she knew it was possible. But there was no way to know how Gwen's own power would change the equation, or whether Gwen would survive it.

They looked at each other for a long moment. At last, Gwen gave a tight smile, her expression bleak. "Yeah, I get it. What the hell, right? What have I got to lose?"

* * *

Later, when they'd switched to tea and the last of the gray evening light was fading at the windows, Amanda asked, "Is there anyone you want to call?"

Gwen let out a short, soft laugh. "You mean like in case this whole thing backfires, and we both end up toast? Yeah, not really." At Amanda's look, she shrugged, swirling the liquid around in her cup. "Even under what passes for normal circumstances, I can't touch anyone without hurting them, or worse. I'm basically a walking lightning rod—literally. My life doesn't really fit in with the whole dating scene."

"What about family?" Amanda asked.

"Parents dropped me off at boarding school when I was seven and pretty much never came back." Gwen shrugged. "I can't really blame them. Has to get old, the whole, 'bad seed' thing. Gets tough to find nannies after a while." She sipped her tea and gave Amanda a sidelong look, considering. "You must know what it's like."

"What do you mean?"

"I imagine after the first couple of centuries, you get used to being on your own."

Amanda smiled. "Pretty perceptive for someone your age."

Gwen seemed to weigh what she was going to say next. "Were you always a thief?"

The question surprised Amanda. "As long as I can remember. At first, I didn't have a choice—it was either that, or starve. Later, it seemed like the thing to do, you know? You see a field of flowers—"

"—you pick a few," Gwen finished with her, and they shared a smile.

"I try not to hurt anybody," Amanda said after a moment. "My first teacher, Rebecca, she taught me that I didn't have to steal, that it was a choice." The familiar sense of loss touched her, and she looked down, musing on how much poorer the world was without Rebecca in it. "Too bad I wasn't a very good student."

"You were close," Gwen guessed. "She died?"

"She was Immortal," Amanda said. "She was killed by one of us, not because he wanted her head, but because she had something he wanted."

"Sucks," Gwen said. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—"

"You didn't," Amanda said, pushing the sentiment away and getting up. "It happens, even to the best of us. I guess I've been missing her more than usual, lately."

The quiet that followed was broken by the soft, insistent ringing of the phone. They both looked at it, then at each other; Amanda picked it up, and listened to the voice on the other end. Only two words were spoken.

* * *

**IV.**

"Wait here, and stay out of sight," Amanda warned Gwen, as they approached the mouth of an alley not far from the Centre Pompidou. "No matter what happens, you stay out of it until it's all over, okay?"

"You're serious about this fair fight thing, huh?"

"Yeah. I am. Trust me on this." She scanned the area, hyper-alert, and Gwen could tell she was nervous, but ready.

"What about you?" Gwen said suddenly. "If something happens, is there somebody you want me to tell?"

Amanda gave a quick shake of her head. "They'll know. Somewhere around here, there's a Watcher, I'd lay money on it." She turned back with a tight smile, taking a deep breath. "Well, wish me luck."

In a moment, she'd pulled a sword from her coat and stepped into the alley, holding it before her. Gwen watched as, all trace of nervousness banished and voice pitched to carry, Amanda sang out, "Come out, come out, wherever you are."

For a moment, the alley was empty save for the echoes falling away; then a figure appeared from the shadows at the other end of the street, stepping into the yellow spill of lamplight. He was a good-looking son of a bitch, Gwen saw, his features sharp but handsome. He had about four inches on Amanda, and probably outweighed her by a good hundred pounds.

The steel of his blade glinted in menace. "Amanda. I'm surprised you showed up. I didn't think you'd be stupid enough to go through with it."

Amanda shrugged. "What can I say? I'm having a bad week."

"So sorry to hear about Rebecca," the man said, his voice dripping false sympathy. "Sorry I didn't kill her myself, that is. If I'd known it would be so easy, I would have made a point of it. No pun intended."

"William, William. Still the brilliant wit, I see. You haven't changed a bit." All Amanda's joking fell away, and she advanced on him, spinning the weight of her sword around in a graceful arc. "Enough talking, let's go."

"Suit yourself," he said, and attacked.

Within the first few seconds of the fight, Gwen understood that for all the training she'd done, all the pride she took in her ability to kick ass when it came to the hand-to-hand, there was a huge difference between being able to handle yourself in a fight and the kind of skill and experience it took to fight a guy twice your size wielding a three-foot sword.

She was sure, watching the initial violent flurry of blows, that Amanda was finished before things even got started. The guy she'd called William had her on the run, and though she managed to keep parrying his blade away, it looked like sooner or later, she wouldn't be fast enough, and one of those vicious blows would cleave right through her.

It didn't happen, though, and Gwen realized there was a design, a rhythm to the way Amanda always managed to keep one step ahead. She gave ground, but in a deliberate, circular pattern; her blade seemed delicate compared to the heavier one her opponent wielded, but it made her faster, more able to slide out from under the man's attacks.

Gwen caught a glimpse of Amanda's expression then, a study in fierce concentration, and Amanda seemed to hit a crucial cadence within herself. Her movements became a dance, and now she alternated parries with hard, spinning kicks that landed first to the man's knee, then to his jaw; he staggered back, and Amanda suddenly lunged forward, sword thrusting straight at his chest. He managed to deflect the blade, but it sliced deep into his upper arm. He hissed in pain and fury. His answering stroke was wild, uncontrolled, and Amanda leapt back so that it passed harmlessly in front of her face.

Before he could recover, she dove into a roll and thrust her sword up at him. Gwen hadn't seen it coming, and it looked like the guy hadn't, either—Amanda's blade hit something, it looked like his thigh, and she had to yank it free as she rolled to her feet.

It was Amanda who paled, though, and fell back, her face suddenly twisted in pain. She clapped one hand to her side, and Gwen could see blood. His clumsy attempt to ward off Amanda's attack had scored a lucky hit on her right side, under her sword arm. It must have been deep, because her step faltered, like her leg on that side didn't want to hold her weight. Limping, she backed away.

The guy saw it and went after her, heedless of his own wounds. It flashed through Gwen's mind that Amanda had said they healed fast, sometimes within seconds. A warning caught in her throat, but it was too late; Amanda tried to go low to guard her weak side, but the guy got past Amanda's sword and hit her wrist hard from behind, knocking her forward. Amanda's sword fell to the ground, steel ringing on the pavement.

It happened fast, almost too fast to see, and for a second, Gwen was sure it was all over. But Amanda pulled a move out of a Jackie Chan movie, using the momentum of the guy's forward push to run right up the side of a parked car and flip herself backward over his shoulder. In the process, she somehow used the motion to twist the guy's wrist back; when she landed, his sword was in her hand, and Gwen would have traded her best pair of night goggles for a picture of the surprise on the guy's face.

He didn't have long to wonder how it had happened. In another second, the blade was coming down, and his head parted from his neck with a sound that made Gwen's stomach turn over.

Slowly, Amanda straightened. She turned and looked Gwen's direction; casting the heavy sword aside, she pressed one hand against her side and stood swaying there, feet braced apart as if waiting for something.

Gwen stepped out of the doorway where she'd been hidden. There was an expectant charge in the air, a sudden, gathering pressure that she could feel against every inch of her skin. She knew that feeling. She'd felt it before, in the split second before lightning hit.

The first bolt leapt in a bright arc from the dead guy's body to Amanda's, searing an afterimage on Gwen's retinas and driving Amanda to her knees. A pale nimbus of ghostly energy seemed to spread outward from the body, building in seconds to a cloud of flickering ghost-fire that almost obscured Amanda from view. Then a second bolt hit, splitting the night open, and Gwen thought she heard Amanda cry out.

The storm came, then, consuming Amanda in a nexus of energy too bright to look at, the lightning hitting fast and hard. Instinct told Gwen to run, the power within her making her teeth ache and her nerves feel like they were on fire; instead, she took a deep breath and stepped into the whirlwind. The lightning welcomed her like she belonged there, consuming her instantly in the same halo of fire.

It was both agonizing and addictive, both erotic and unbearably intense. Gwen gritted her teeth and concentrated on the deluge of power, trying to let it flow into her and through her and into Amanda and out. It went on and on, time losing all meaning as she fought to keep hold of something of herself in the face of that awesome force. Amanda was the source, but Gwen was the conduit; she'd spent a lifetime trying to learn how to channel what she was, and this was the moment when she had to make it count.

When she was on the edge of losing control of the flow, the lightning spiraled itself up into the night sky and finally, simultaneously, released them. The world spun, and Gwen tried to remember how to breathe. The silence of the aftermath seemed deafening.

At last, Amanda grabbed her sword and dragged herself to one knee. "Damn," she managed, sounding as breathless as Gwen felt. "That's a first. Was it good for you, too?"

Bracing herself against a car ten feet away, Gwen laughed. "Yeah, pretty much. Is it always like that?"

"Not exactly. But it can be." Amanda got to her feet, a little unsteady but no longer holding her wounded side. Her face was flushed, her eyes bright, and Gwen wondered if she looked like that, too.

"Did it work?" she asked, as Amanda came closer.

Amanda spread the slit in her shirt open to show smooth skin under a smear of blood. "What about you?"

Gwen held her hands out, palms up, and generated a charge; she held it there without effort, then let it dissipate. "God, that's a rush."

Amanda let out a breathless, relieved laugh. "I kind of want to go steal something for the hell of it."

"Tell me about it," Gwen said in fervent agreement.

Amanda gave Gwen a speculative look, and a slow smile tilted her eyes up at the corners. "I'm thinking... the Musée d'Orsay?"

Gwen's answering grin made her face hurt. "I'm thinking you read my mind."

* * *

It was better than sex. They were in the building inside thirty seconds, and it was all clockwork from there: entryways, infrared, cameras, smooth as silk all the way, and Gwen thought she could get used to this all too easily. Between her way with electronics and Amanda's finesse with locks, there wasn't a vault in the world that could keep them out. Afterwards, they ran south away from the river, ducking into the metro two seconds before the flashing blue lights rounded the corner, laughing at the heavy, clunking sounds Amanda's coat made.

Ten minutes later, they were on a busy street six blocks over, walking back toward the river. "That's the first time I stole anything for the hell of it," Gwen admitted. She still felt charged up, buzzing with it. "Not for some job, or because I had to, but because I could."

"How's it feel?" Amanda asked.

Gwen gave a laugh. "It doesn't suck."

Amanda watched her for a moment, then tilted her head on one side, considering. "Listen, call me crazy, but you want to come back to my place?"

The question wasn't a complete surprise, but it still caught Gwen off guard. Four days ago, she would have known what the answer was without having to think about it. She'd never been all that interested in women. She'd never met anyone like Amanda, though, not even close, and the idea was a lot more of a turn-on than she expected. More than that, she liked who she was when she was around Amanda. She liked the idea of them together.

There was just one problem. Face warm, she shook her head and dropped her gaze. "I can't. Especially with you, I can't. Like I said, I've never—"

"So, we'll be creative. What the hell, right? You only live once." Gwen looked up; their eyes met and held. Amanda's were wide-set, and seemed to sparkle with laughter under the surface, even when she was looking at Gwen like she was now, like she was good enough to eat. She said, "Trust me, okay?"

And Gwen, for some reason, found that she did.

* * *

The cab ride back to Amanda's place seemed interminable, but that was probably because Amanda sat beside her in the back seat and kept her hand pressed between Gwen's legs the whole time, not moving—an even, gentle pressure that made all the blood rush south, made it impossible to think. Amanda didn't look at her, just kept up a steady stream of conversation with the cabby in French, and every little sway and bump in the road made Gwen all too aware of how easy it would be to get herself off like that, if only Amanda would let her.

The second they were out of the cab and inside, Amanda had her up against the wall in the hallway. "Careful," Gwen warned, feeling like she couldn't trust herself. "Not the skin."

"Got it," Amanda said, tonguing and biting her nipples through her pullover. Gwen's head hit the wall and she fought back a moan. Amanda's perfume was making her light-headed.

"God. Don't stop." Shivers rushed over her, helpless and fierce.

"Don't worry, wasn't planning on it."

When Gwen couldn't take any more, Amanda grabbed her hand and pulled Gwen into her flat. The second they were inside, she started to undress.

Gwen's face warmed as Amanda stripped off her top to reveal a black satin bra and breasts every bit as magnificent as they'd promised to be. Then Amanda unhooked the bra, and Gwen felt her mouth go dry.

"It's okay," Amanda said, amused affection in her voice. "You're allowed to look."

Gwen shook her head. "I can't believe I'm doing this. I don't even like girls."

"Have you ever tried?"

"No, but—"

Amanda discarded the bra; bare to the waist, she knelt in front of Gwen and gently but firmly pinned her wrists to the wall. Gwen's heart beat hard and fast, and a jolt of heat stabbed through her. "Okay, valid point," she managed. In answer, Amanda leaned forward and licked her through her pants, then just as deliberate, breathed heat there and bit her gently—and Gwen orgasmed in a hot rush, without warning. Her knees gave; she shuddered and closed her eyes, panting. "Jesus."

Amanda gave a last, comforting press of her tongue, then leaned back with a wicked grin. "Now, that wasn't so bad, was it?"

Gwen felt the heat of her embarrassment all over her, but it was so close to arousal that she couldn't tell the difference any more. She didn't know how to say that it was the first orgasm she'd ever had with another person.

It had barely taken the edge off, she realized, as the shock of pleasure ebbed, and hunger still coiled in her belly and between her thighs. She didn't know whether it was the Quickening or the adrenaline rush or just Amanda, just the uncharted territory of being around someone who got her, who looked at her and saw something other than a means to an end. All she could think about was Amanda's tongue on her through the maddening layers of fabric, and how much she wanted more.

Amanda straightened up and shimmied out of her pants, in a moment wearing nothing but tiny black silk panties and completely unselfconscious about it. "Come on," she said, taking Gwen once more by the hand. "I've got an idea."

She pulled Gwen into the bedroom and walked past a bed thick with pillows and coverings rich in satin and silk, pale pink and gold. With a smile full of knowing promise, she reached into a bedside drawer and pulled out a black velvet pouch, from which she withdrew a curved glass dildo. "Nonconductive, see?"

Gwen couldn't help laughing, and hoped it didn't sound as nervous as she felt.

"What's so funny?"

"It just hit me, how many times you must have done this. Not that—no offense. It's just kinda, you know, the part where I don't have the first clue what I'm doing." The dildo was beautiful, smoked glass and elegant, and Gwen had a hard time taking her eyes off it. Thinking about what it would feel like was making her feel hot all over.

Amanda's expression turned serious. "You say the word, we stop right now. No questions asked."

"No, I want to. It's just, I can't promise it won't suck."

"Can I let you in on a little secret?" At Gwen's nod, she leaned closer. "Men are great, don't get me wrong. But the thing about women that I love, the thing that makes it different with a woman than with a man, is that when you're with a woman, you're in it together. I want to make you feel good as much as I want to make me feel good. They're pretty much the same thing." Her gaze intent, she climbed onto the bed, then lay back and rubbed the tip of the dildo against her panties where Gwen could see. "You ever do this with a friend? It's pretty incredible, trust me."

"You keep saying that."

Amanda shrugged. "So, give it a shot. If you don't like it, we'll forget the whole thing."

Gwen smiled a little, struggling to keep her voice steady. "Man, you're dangerous, you know that?" Her heart felt like it was going to beat out of her chest.

Amanda returned the smile as if Gwen were the best thing that had happened to her in ages. "That's pretty funny, coming from you."

Gwen breathed a laugh, and felt some of the nervousness fade. "Yeah, I guess it is."

Amanda set the dildo aside and got up. She patted the bed, inviting. "Why don't you get comfortable? There's something I want to try."

She disappeared down the hallway and into a closet. From the sound of things, the closet was almost as big as the bedroom; trying to get her heart rate under control, Gwen listened to Amanda moving around in there. Get comfortable? Who was she kidding? But they weren't going to get anywhere if she didn't at least try to get with the program, so she pulled herself together and made herself cross the three feet of space to the edge of the bed.

Making herself sit down on it took more will than taking the first step out onto a wire suspended over a sixty foot drop, but once she was sitting down, it was a little better. She took off her boots and glanced toward the closet; Amanda was still in there.

She took a deep breath, let it out. _You can do this,_ she told herself. _If you don't try, you'll never know what you're missing._ Swallowing, she pulled her top off. She was wearing nothing underneath; unlike Amanda, she didn't exactly need a lot of extra support.

Her nipples peaked from the stimulation and from the sudden exposure, and she had to fight the urge to cross her arms over her chest and cover her breasts. What the hell was she doing?

But hunger still buzzed inside her, and it was more than that. She'd never met anyone like Amanda, and she didn't want to disappoint her.

Amanda reappeared then, wearing small, soft black gloves that came up to her wrists. Seeing Gwen, she stopped in the entry to the hall and gave her the once-over with frank appreciation and not a little awe.

"Damn. I think I forgot my own name."

Gwen flushed. "What's with the gloves?"

Amanda dimpled. "Anti-static, like yours. No self-respecting thief would be without."

She drew close to the bed, still letting her gaze roam freely over Gwen's bare skin, and Gwen again fought the urge to cover herself. She thought her pulse was probably visible at her throat, the way it was beating so hard there, and she felt herself flush with a wave of anticipatory shivers as Amanda reached out, pressing the backs of her gloved fingers to Gwen's temple for a moment before smoothing her palm over Gwen's hair. Gwen couldn't help it—she closed her eyes. No one'd ever touched her like that.

"You have no idea how much I wish I could kiss you," Amanda said, voice soft but heavy with heat.

"Me too," Gwen admitted. It came out a little breathless.

Taking her time, Amanda ran her hands gently over Gwen's breasts. "Is this okay?"

"God, yes. Careful, okay? Just—be careful." Gwen tried to keep her own hands from betraying her. They clenched into fists at her sides. She felt herself trembling, and tried to control it, but she could feel the power inside her, barely contained. She hadn't been kidding when she'd said she'd never done this before. The few times it might have happened, she'd backed away as fast as humanly possible. She'd never trusted anyone this far.

"You are so amazing," Amanda said at last. Her hands came to rest lightly on Gwen's thighs. "Can you take these off for me?"

Gwen swallowed hard, her heart thundering in her chest. She risked a glance at Amanda, and what she saw in the other woman's face calmed her. Suddenly a little desperate for what would come next, she lay back against the pillows and stripped the pants off, her panties with them.

"So hot," Amanda said. "You're killing me."

"Let's hope not," Gwen said, and they both laughed. Then Amanda lay the cool glass against her, pressing gently against the heat between her legs, and Gwen's laugh choked off.

Amanda sat beside her on the bed, careful not to touch. "Baby, it's okay. Look at me."

When Gwen did, she could see that Amanda's nipples had drawn taut, her breasts flushed a delicate pink, her pupils dilated—she was as turned on as Gwen was. "It's going to feel so good, I promise. Will you let me?"

Gwen fought against the way her body wanted to shake, but it seemed to have its own ideas. Finally, she reached out; she laid her gloved hand on Amanda's and helped her guide the dildo inside of her. It slid in easily.

Her breath hitched. "God. Oh—"

"Touch yourself," Amanda said. "Let me see you."

Breathing hard, trying to keep it under control, Gwen rubbed her nipples into stiffness, then parted her fingers in a vee and slid them down on either side of the dildo, pressing sensitive flesh. She could feel the heat of her blood rushing to every erogenous zone she had, and knew it wouldn't take much.

Amanda slid the dildo slowly out, and Gwen felt how wet she was. When Amanda pushed it back in, she shuddered.

"Feel good?"

"What do you think?" Her breath was coming fast, now, her thighs trembling.

"I think I've never seen anything so beautiful."

Gwen shut her eyes. She was so close, from a few strokes. The slow motion of the glass, warming now inside her as Amanda slid it back and forth, threatened to make her come apart so hard she didn't know if she could stand it. She was on the edge, had been since the alley, and it felt like nineteen years of starving for touch was rushing in her blood, flooding her body. "You, too," she managed. "Please." She cracked her eyes open and met Amanda's, pleading. She didn't think she could do this alone.

Amanda seemed to get it. She raised her hand and seized the tip of the glove's middle finger in her teeth, pulling the glove off. Gwen had to will herself to hold still, not to do something stupid, and it was killing her. She wanted to feel how silky Amanda's hair was, feel how warm her breasts were. Amanda shifted and knelt up, slipping her hand into her panties; Gwen could see she was shaved smooth, soft and pink, and Gwen thought about the calluses on Amanda's strong hands, the one part of her that wasn't sleek and perfect.

"Yes?" Amanda said, as if she knew.

"Yeah. Yes." Gwen's fingers curled hard against her own pubic bone. "Please, I need to see you."

Amanda started to move the dildo deeper, and Gwen arched and had to stop herself from grabbing Amanda's wrist as the smooth tip hit something inside Gwen that made her go all melty and hot with each stroke. "God." She forced herself to lie still and put her hands over her head, crossed at the wrist. It made things worse. The fleeting wish to be locked up like that so she couldn't hurt anyone flickered through her head, and it made her throb around the smooth length inside her, made her catch her breath.

Amanda started up a steady rocking motion, small thrusts and a twist at the end of each stroke, hitting Gwen just right. "Like that? Or a little slower?"

Gwen was panting now, almost past words. "Shit. Yes. Like that." She could sense Amanda beside her, close, and she trembled now with the effort to stay still, not to touch, only the helpless motion of her hips betraying her. She forced herself to open her eyes a little, to watch Amanda's hand moving under the small scrap of black silk.

It was all she could stand. The orgasm took her on the next deep stroke, and she didn't know if it was what had happened in the alley or if it was Amanda watching her, Amanda's scent heady all around her, but she came so hard she practically choked on her tongue.

Before she even finished, Amanda pulled the dildo out of her and slid it gently, warm and slick, back and forth against her clit, and she came again twice in quick succession, sharp and sweet. When she threatened to do it again, Gwen choked. "God, don't even. Don't even." She heard how ragged she sounded, out of breath like she'd run a four minute mile.

Amanda set the dildo aside on the night stand and let her catch her breath. When she could think again, Gwen propped herself up on her elbows.

"I wish you could see yourself," Amanda said.

"I'd rather see you."

Amanda obliged, lying down beside Gwen, watching her. She slipped the panties off and stretched one arm up over her head. "Like this?"

Gwen watched her: full breasts, long limbs and narrow hips, shapely feet with bright red toenails. Her own body glowed, happy. Feeling brave with it, she reached out and brushed her gloved palm against Amanda's nipples, making them erect; Amanda closed her eyes, her breath quickening. Gwen had never seen anyone else do this and she was fascinated, wondering if Amanda felt as charged up as she did. She could see how wet Amanda's fingers were, and thought she knew the answer.

"Don't stop," she said, low. Amanda's breath came faster in answer, and she bit her lip. Gwen could see the fine trembling starting in Amanda's thighs, and she felt it deep within her. She pinched Amanda's nipples one after the other, and Amanda choked out a breath.

"Keep going. Harder."

The hum inside Gwen ramped up a little more, like she might come again in sympathy. It wasn't the demanding hunger it had been before, but a deep, pleasant throb of heat. She pinched Amanda's nipples with more force, feeling how hot they were even through the nylon of her gloves. Amanda wasn't as sensitive there as she was, and seemed to like it when Gwen was rough with her.

She tweaked the left one hard, almost viciously, and it was enough for Amanda, whose orgasm took her suddenly, a hard catch in her breath and a visible flush that rushed over her skin. For long seconds she rode it out, hand between her legs not moving, then she slipped two fingers inside and came again without effort. Gwen lay her hand between Amanda's breasts to feel her heart skip, then hit its fast rhythm again.

"Oh," Amanda sighed, letting the breath out in a rush. "Oh, yeah. That's it. Damn." Her eyes opened and she smiled, wide and relaxed. "So, what do you think?"

Gwen had to laugh. "Definitely starting to see the appeal."

* * *

They slept, finally, though it was almost dawn by the time they wore themselves out, and Gwen was pretty sure there was no variation on her particular version of safe sex they hadn't tried. She should have been more worried about the idea of sleeping in Amanda's bed than she was, but in the end she was too tired to move, and caution slipped away on the ebb tide of her own exhaustion.

The sun was high when she stirred her way back to the world of the living. The smell of coffee beckoned; she lay alone in the bed breathing it in for a while, trying to get up the energy to move.

She felt boneless, more relaxed than she had in as long as she could remember. She felt good. More than that, she felt safe, and that was alien and scary enough that it finally pushed her out of the bed and into her clothes while she tried not to dwell too much on the feeling.

Amanda was on the phone as Gwen came out of the bedroom. She sat at the kitchen counter, half a dozen or so framed drawings and small paintings arrayed around her. _Help yourself,_ she mouthed to Gwen, pointing to the coffee. "Will you stop?" she said, exasperated, to whoever was on the other end. She glanced at Gwen with an eloquent roll of her eyes. "Duncan, yes, I promise, everything's fine. Yes, I'll tell you all about it at Joe's."

Gwen tried to ignore the little twist she felt. This had never been more than a way to blow off steam, and they'd both been fully aware of that fact. Anything more would have been... a really bad idea.

"Boyfriend?" she asked, when Amanda jabbed the button to hang up.

"Not at the moment. Doesn't stop him from being a pain in the ass, though."

Gwen sipped her coffee, feeling the caffeine hit her bloodstream like blessed manna. "It's nice that he worries about you."

Amanda sighed. "Most of the time."

Gwen surveyed the stolen pieces, feeling the sudden need to change the subject. "You really going to give them all back?" she asked, thinking of the priceless agate cameo she had stashed in her knapsack. Amanda had insisted on hitting that particular exhibit, seeming to think there was some kind of poetry or inexplicable justice in stealing paintings the Nazis had stolen first.

"Why not? It's not like I can stick them on my wall. Besides, if the original owners were still alive, they'd have come forward by now." At Gwen's bemused expression, she wrinkled her nose and shrugged. "Jewelry's more my thing anyway."

Gwen smiled, wry. "Somehow, that doesn't surprise me."

When Gwen sat down beside her, Amanda held something out, her expression unreadable. Puzzled, Gwen took it. She looked down; in her gloved palm rested a small figure of a bird. It looked like it was made of some kind of copper alloy.

"What's this?"

Amanda shrugged. "I've always had a thing for ravens."

Gwen turned it over. "It looks old."

"Older than I am. It's Roman."

With the tip of one finger, Gwen traced the line of its wings, remembering a story she'd heard once. "The trickster," she said.

"And well-known for being a skillful thief." Amanda paused. "I want you to have it."

Gwen looked up, feeling something draw tight in her chest. "You're kidding."

Amanda smiled. "Something to remember me by. And for luck. They're symbols of protection, too."

Gwen closed her hand around the little bird, not knowing what to say. "Thanks." She looked down again, suddenly feeling awkward. "Listen, I should probably go." She got up, looking around for her bag.

"You're welcome to stay," Amanda said behind her, and she meant it, Gwen could tell, but she shook her head, her face warm.

"Thanks, but really, I should. I'm four days late for my delivery as it is."

Amanda didn't argue, just walked her to the door, watching as she shook her hair back and hitched her knapsack up on her shoulder.

"Take care of yourself, all right? Be careful out there. For me."

"You, too." Gwen hesitated, not quite able to look at her, not sure if maybe she was transgressing somehow, breaking some kind of rule. "Listen, my work kinda sends me all over, but you never know..."

She looked up finally, in time to see Amanda's eyes shine, warm and glad, as if Gwen had given her a present. "Any time, honey. I mean that. Friends?"

Gwen blinked. She nodded. "Friends." She took a deep breath; she'd never really had one before. "Okay. I'll see you."

In a moment, she was stepping out into the cool Paris morning, the warm shape of the raven against her gloved palm.

**~ end ~**


End file.
